


hidden

by IrisParry



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: #makehuxsuffer2k16, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:46:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9020701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrisParry/pseuds/IrisParry
Summary: For all the comfortable familiarity of the morning, Hux’s heart races as if it is the first time, Kylo’s body and care luxuries he is still reeling from, eager for. Something inside is urging him to take this chance and use it well, before it is taken away.
 This is not the soft fic you're looking for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I saw [this post](http://sasheenka.tumblr.com/post/154806856893) yesterday and laughed for about twenty minutes, then had a discussion on twitter about Hux being rejected, and then this happened. There is no happy ending, and Hux suffers emotionally a great deal. Also it is not remotely Christmassy despite the post that inadvertently kicked it off. Please consider whether this is the right fic for you to read right now.

“Good morning.”

Kylo’s voice is strange like this, low and sleepy; and so close, mumbled into the back of Hux’s neck, breathed where the slope of his shoulder begins. It takes Hux a moment to orient himself, to take inventory. The bed must be Kylo’s because the sheets aren’t regulation, and what Hux can see of the floor beyond it is a mess and Hux would never - no, those are their clothes, so Hux bears half that responsibility. The night is something of a blur, but Hux’s surge of pride is like a shot of liquor, a lovely intoxicating burn.

They’re burrowed beneath heavy sheets and blankets, Kylo curled around him from behind and lazily running a hand up and down Hux’s thigh. For all the comfortable familiarity of the morning, Hux’s heart races as if it is the first time, Kylo’s body and care luxuries he is still reeling from, eager for. Something inside is urging him to take this chance and use it well, before it is taken away. 

He twists in Kylo’s arms, swinging a leg across him and pulling him close with hands and heel. They’re face to face and he wants to look, really look, to drink in every inch of him and commit it all to memory, but his eyes are fluttering closed of their own accord and then all he does is feel. Kylo’s mouth is soft and smiling, the touch of his tongue startlingly carnal. His nose poking gently against Hux’s face is wonderfully intimate, in a way Hux had never thought to imagine. Kylo huffs a little laugh and does it deliberately, rubbing their noses together and making his wet smears of kisses miss Hux’s lips. Of course he heard, of course he knew, like he’ll know Hux’s rush of giddy affection in response. 

Hux laughs and sighs, heart fit to burst, while Kylo eases him onto his back. He rolls away and Hux misses the weight of him, the heat of him, until his lips and hands are back, are everywhere. Kylo kisses him, his hair brushing Hux’s skin as he works his way down, shoulders and chest, and his hands are so big wrapped around Hux’s wrists, stroking his belly and parting his thighs. 

Everything is dark and warm and Hux can’t tell one sensation from another anymore. He’s so hard and Kylo hasn’t even touched his cock, he’s going to come and Kylo hasn’t even touched him, Kylo has him sunk in this pleasure like he’s drowning; Hux wants to cling to him, stay afloat a little longer, but he doesn’t know how. Kylo’s mouth is so good and his hands feel so good and so strong, and Hux wants him so desperately but even the thought of it, of being inside, finally having all of him, taking him and making him come, is too much. His body jerks with the first hit and he reaches down to stroke himself, to make the most of it, wakes still twitching and gasping. 

Hux squeezes his eyes shut through the last weak throes of his orgasm, tries to stay with the dream as awareness floods in. He has never been a heavy sleeper, adjusts quickly to a hint of consciousness, and even as he slows his hand he knows that he’s alone in his bed.

His body doesn’t really appreciate the difference, swamps him with a buzzy lethargy even though he wants nothing more than to set his sheets on fire and decamp to the shower for the rest of the day. It’s not 0500 yet, but he won’t sleep again. He feels clammy and thoroughly unpleasant. The ceiling offers him little consolation, or distraction. Hux doesn’t know if Kylo is likely to be awake now, what hours the man keeps. If he can see Hux’s thoughts from where he is. He can’t even imagine Kylo’s sneer if he did see.  

He has seen Kylo’s face four times, each in the shadows of the audience chamber when the knight and Snoke had conferred before Hux’s arrival. It was for Snoke, of course, the unmasking. Kylo has never removed the helmet when speaking with Hux alone. He didn't scrabble to cover himself again in the chamber, so it isn’t that he doesn’t want Hux to see him, exactly. It just doesn't really matter to Kylo if he does. So Hux has seen his star-pale skin, his elegant, aquiline nose. His mouth, so wide and expressive. Kylo’s hair, dark and unruly, catching the light where it falls in waves about his terrible, beautiful face.

Sometimes he remembers that they must both have known, have sensed it. What he felt in those moments, before he could lock it away. Neither of them said anything, not then or since, nothing cruel or even curious. Nothing at all.

It has been so long now that Hux sometimes wonders if the memory is distorted, worn with use. If Kylo bears any resemblance to the dream-creature Hux has made of him. It is excruciating, to want to know. To not know. It occurs to him, with a sudden hollow feeling, that perhaps this is why he dreams so often of Kylo behind him, of closing his eyes in rapture; of a presence, a weight and a feeling, more than a man. His unconscious mind would spare him the shame of a half-remembered face.

Although… more than once, Hux has dreamed of the mask. More than twice. In his dreams, the polished metal is cold but the matte body of the helmet strangely warm, like dark volcanic rock on some unstable moon. Heavy gloved hands sit at his hips, casually possessive, and Hux presses his face to the mask, lips moving against it in kisses and pleas. He’s naked, body enveloped in endless folds of Kylo’s robes, clutching his shoulders, legs wrapped around him where he sits. He feels held but not touched, not really; claimed but not taken. When he squirms in frustration, Kylo settles him. Kylo tolerates his soft whimpers, unmoved, and eventually they stop. The regulated hiss of his breath, soft and steady, is like a distant heartbeat.

Sometimes Kylo will take pity and touch him, once he is subdued, sometimes not. Either way, Hux wakes from these dreams of giving up and feels a strange, lingering tranquility that he does not dare to fathom.

He doesn’t know if it is better or worse than how he woke up today. His hands are fists at his sides, and the pain of his nails digging in mercifully shifts his attention. He flexes his fingers, once, twice, then grabs a handful of the sheets to wipe his tacky belly. Trying to pretend it isn’t happening at the same time as trying to catch most of the mess is a challenge, but he endures. Hux hauls himself to his feet, balling up the bedclothes for the laundry chute. He feels better when they are whisked away, though he carries evidence with him that he does not know if he can truly hide from Kylo. 

Shower cubicles have always felt peculiarly insulated to Hux, intensely private. Perhaps the contrast with the Academy’s communal showers still pleases him. Under the water, he sometimes thinks about it. About displaying the evidence instead, thinking about Kylo deliberately and graphically, making it Hux’s choice that he sees. Making a weapon of his shame, starting a fight with it. That would be better than - 

Hux shuts off the shower, and with it the train of thought. He has already given this nonsense more time than he should. He is up an hour earlier than usual, and today will be more productive despite his moment of weakness. He will bend this misfortune to his advantage.

Hux shaves, dresses, continues with his routine, mentally amending his timetable as his body works almost on autopilot. It’s a disconnect he welcomes. It’s more efficient. He won’t be led around by what are, at the end of the day, simple physical desires.

The Finalizer’s corridors are the same any time of day or night. There are always people, and droids, and the comforting hum of the engines, of industry. Hux’s step lightens with every crisp salute that meets him as he makes his way to the officers’ mess. 

Of course, then he turns a corner and Kylo is stalking toward him. If he is surprised to see Hux up and about this early, he does not show it. Of course.

“General,” Kylo snaps as he passes, barely turning his head. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Hux replies, nails biting into his palms, but Kylo is already too far away to have heard him.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have been emotionally compromised by this fic I offer compensation at my [askbox](http://irisparry.tumblr.com/ask) Dec 24th-26th. Send me a single-word prompt for a 3-sentence soft fic with guaranteed no suffering. I don't really celebrate Christmas but I still felt kind of weird about posting the pain rn, ok?


End file.
